


A Gift for My Mother

by LillysoftheValley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Death, Discussion of Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, Memorials, Parent Death, Picnics, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), aziraphale and adam bond over loss of a parent, remembering a loved one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27208675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillysoftheValley/pseuds/LillysoftheValley
Summary: Everyone deals with grief differently, but Adam and Aziraphale have similar experiences with loss. They decide to put aside a special day to remember those special to them and keep their memories close.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	A Gift for My Mother

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to my mom, who would have been 65 today. Aziraphale's relationship with his 'mom' really resonated with me but this story does not reflect any views except my own.
> 
> I have also written a little essay with more background [ HERE ](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/1828781) on Pillowfort, but you can just enjoy this little story with Adam and Aziraphale.

"Do you miss your mother?" Adam asked, sprawled on his side on the blanket among the remains of a picnic. The picnic had been his idea, something spur of the moment that had miraculously involved a perfectly packed hamper and a lovely clear day to enjoy. Now, the sun was beginning to wind its way lower in the sky, the countryside filling with the sleepy hush that comes between late afternoon and twilight. "I mean, I know she weren't your _real_ mum, like my dad's not really my dad -- I guess, or is 'e? -- never really figured that one out."

"No, I know what you mean." Aziraphale put his little paper plate aside and brushed a few crumbs off the blanket. He leaned back against the tree they had spread out under, a nice old one with high wide branches to keep out the heat of the sun. The leaves winked back and forth, catching the sun like little sequins on a dress. He'd seen Crowley in a dress like that once, a long time ago. But then, Crowley had always sparkled to him. He was off somewhere nearby sunning himself and probably giving the local wildflowers an earful.

"I suppose I still do, deep down, but I don't think of it very often. Like you say, we were not born, not in the usual sense, so I never had that kind of connection with her. But I did love her very much. Crowley will say that blind devotion is not the same thing as love, but I don't know that he can ever really understand. Or perhaps he understands better than the rest of us." Aziraphale shrugged. "I loved her, she loved me, but we grew apart; I grew up, much like you are, now. And now I love all of you so much, there isn't much room for her anymore, but sometimes ... " 

Azirapahle trailed off, rubbing absently at his chest. Adam sat up, but waited for Aziraphale to continue. "Sometimes I get this ache, this sense that I miss having her there, even if I don't exactly miss her. Sometimes I feel a bit guilty that I don't miss her more. I was not with her very long, not nearly enough, but I still ache like she was a vital part of me that isn't there anymore. It was quite sudden, now that you mention it. One day she was there, and I had no reason to think she would ever be anywhere else, and then things started changing, very very slowly, and before I could really understand what was happening, she was gone, and I was alone." His voice became soft, quiet. "And she was not coming back no matter how much I wanted her to. I was not really angry, not like Crowley was angry, I was just bereft. There was a hole in my life, but it closed so quickly I almost didn't get a chance to miss it. Not until much later." Aziraphale tailed off again, looking into the distance.

After a long moment, Adam asked: "What'd she look like?"

A ghost of a smile lit up Aziraphale's eyes as he stared back into the memory. "Like what you perceive when you close your eyes and tilt your face up to the sun," he said, and demonstrated. "That red tinted blackness that is also hot. Or, the swirls of color your see when you rub your eyes too hard. Or perhaps I don't really remember. She isn't an entity with physical shape now, up here." He tapped his head. "Just a form of feelings, impressions, things I may be remembering or just dreams where I think I am remembering. I used to try to focus, play out memories in my mind like a film, to make sure I could keep them with me forever but -- " Aziraphale shook his head slowly, a little sadly, spreading his hands like the memory slipped out of them like handfuls of sand.

Adam digested this for a while, staring out at the fields. Crowley waved from nearby, arms full of wildflowers. "'s kinda like me gran. She died when I was really small, but I still remember her. Like, I remember her 'ouse, and playin' with her and stuff, and I'll look at pictures and know that she was real. But I sorta forget, too. I think I can remember her voice, singin' to me, or tellin' me not to put so much sugar in me tea, but I don't _really_ remember. It's just like, the feelin' of rememberin', without actually doing it." Aziraphale nodded understandingly. "But some stuff I do remember really well," Adam continued brightly. "Like, the way her shirt felt when she hugged me. Or holdin' her hand. My mum cooks sometimes and it'll smell just like gran's kitchen. And sometimes I forget she isn't 'ere anymore."

"Those are good things to remember, even if it sometimes makes it hurt more to realize she's gone." Adam hugged his knees and nodded. Aziraphale opened his arms and Adam scooted over into them, curling up against his side. It was a bit difficult as Adam was almost as tall as he was now, but Aziraphale held him all the same. 

"I didn't go to the funeral," Adam confessed quietly. "Mum didn't want me to, said I was too small when I asked her later." 

"Did you want to?"

"Later, I did. I mean, when it happened I didn't really understand, just that gran wasn't there anymore, that she was in heaven and that. But, yeah, when I got a lil' older I thought, I should 'ave like to have done. At least, done somethin' to say goodbye properly, you know? But when I think about it, I'm kind of glad I didn't, in a way, 'cause I don't like to think of my gran as just a body in a box. She was gran."

Aziraphale nodded, his cheek brushing Adam's hair; still unruly despite his mother's attempts to tame it. "You want to remember her as she was, alive and full of love and laughing." 

"Is it like that for you?"

"Yes, I believe it is. I never really got to say goodbye, either. Never got to -- explain."

"We should have a day. A memorial day, to do all that stuff we never got to."

Aziraphale smiled down at the boy in his arms. "I think that sounds wonderful."

Adam smiled too, and burrowed a little more into the now familiar cardigan. It was soft and warm and smelled just a bit like something he thought he remembered, but before he could ponder it too much, he drifted off to sleep, safe and loved, under a tree in summer.


End file.
